


Out like a light.

by PeppermintPalimpsest



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angry Yuri Plisetsky, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Comfort Sex, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Yuri Plisetsky, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Protective Otabek Altin, Yuri Plisetsky Is A Little Shit, Yuri Plisetsky Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintPalimpsest/pseuds/PeppermintPalimpsest
Summary: Otabek comes home to Yuri, and finds him in a state he'd thought his lover left behind.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	Out like a light.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Eating disorder stuff - please don't read if this is going to trigger you. Also, what Otabek is doing isn't exactly stellar therapy work. Really, don't follow his advice. This is a discussion between two people trying to deal with a horrific situation in the best way two young adults can deal with alone WITHOUT TRAINED HELP. This fic is my form of emotional processing, and is reflective of my own internal dialogue.
> 
> Please people - get an actual therapist to help you.

His arms are the only things that feel like home anymore.

“I missed you,” Beka mumbles - words soft against his collarbone. His scent fulfills him, all pepper and ginger with a hint of sweetness. His forehead pressed into Yuri’s bones, arms around his ribs. “You’re taller.” He says, lifting his head to look him in the eyes. There is a smile on his lips now, a rare offering.

That nearly makes him grimace.

“You’re still hot.” There are better ways he can phrase that. He practiced this in the car - revised his words. Why couldn’t he just - but Otabek lets out a huff of air. He’s _laughing_.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

Yuri swallows.

.o0O0o.

There is a space where they used to be. In the months after 2017’s Worlds - they had spent every day together. Imagining himself alone then was like trying to imagine himself without limbs. They had their language - half Russian and part English, words of Kazakh whispered in quiet moments.

In the car - he feels like a stranger. Perhaps he looks breakable. Perhaps Otabek is waiting for him to give permission.

“Do you need anything from the store?” The usual. Condoms, toothpaste, expensive coffee…

“I’m pretty hungry.” Says Otabek, shrugging. Not _starving_ , as any reasonable person would say. Pretty hungry - delicate words for his sake. He immediately regrets asking - should have just driven home. Makes him grit his teeth. “Wanna get some Teremok?”

He almost laughs. Almost. Teremok - blini with potatoes, fried onion, bacon - he can already feel the greasy slip of it down the line of him. Can already grip his hips - imagine the cling of it to him. The earth sways below him, mouth full of salt.

Otabek is trying to ruin him.

“Sure.” He says, starting the car. Grips the steering wheel. His fingers look thin on the leather, curled around the wheel. They want to grip harder. Hurt something - himself or his lover - for the mere suggestion of eating one meal in front of another. Teremok - what a fucking joke.

Surely the borscht can’t be that terrible. Cabbage, beet. He can stomach that.

They drive on further. His heart beats low in his chest, a steady heady pulse that makes his fingers tremble. Otabek watches him - then turns to watch the smokey skies. His hairline has moved further upwards, the shadows of his facial hair darker. His fingers are more worn. Darker eyebrows. His jaw is no longer sharp enough to bruise, the faintest hint of fat gathering along the muscles of his arms and neck.

Yuri’s hands go white on the wheel. Beka looks better than ever.

“Are you alright?”

“Are _you alright_?” His voice comes out mocking. Maybe Otabek would have laughed before, when they were starting this. Three years since then - and they were both softer and harder on each other. Where Beka had laughed at his insolence, now he was met with caution and question.

“I’m doing alright Yura. But that wasn’t the question.”

“If you’re okay then we’re okay.” He shrugs. Doesn’t look at Otabek. Stares at something beyond him - the yellow-jacketed woman walking along the lane behind him. His eyes are too sharp. Too much. His chest sours.

“Okay.” And it is left at that.

Yuri orders. Heads back to the car - warming his hands against the dashboard. His body refuses to warm now - warmth sapped from his bones. “Let me get the order,” Beka says, stepping out of the car. He puts the heat on full blast before getting out. “Stay in here, I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

He waits. Swallowing his spit. Beka comes back out - arm around a paper bag. There is a tightness to his face. It disappears almost instantly when he sees the car. The door opens. He closes it behind him, and the smell of _it_ fills the air. Sweetness that makes his stomach churn. Butter. Onions.

_Blin_.

“I already ate.” He says - speaking just as Beka opens his mouth. “I ate this morning.”

“You didn’t order anything.”

“That’s why.” He gives his lover a shaky shrug. Yuri can be nonchalant. He can be chill. No need to worry his boyfriend with this kind of thing. “Not hungry.”

Otabek - the expression of irritation sinks the moment it appears. Replaced by something worse. An almost grief, the furrowing of his brow in betrayal. _Oh,_ he thinks. _I did this to him._

“You’re lying to me again.”

Sharpness pricks at his eyes. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes. You are.” He shakes his head. The food is dropped between them, and Yuri feels like throwing up. “You haven’t eaten for the last few days.” How _dare_ he? The anger fills the pit of him, nervousness burning up with the rest of him.

“I had breakfast.” He seethes.

Otabek’s frown grows deeper. Disappointment scrubs at his edges, nibbling at the corners of his heart. “You didn’t. Please Yura -” Beka’s hands run back through his dark hair, and the sickness builds. “Yura - you didn’t need to not eat to see me.”

He barks out a laugh. A sharp huff of air that cuts through the both of them. They recoil from it. “You keep just - shit - you _arrogant_ -”

“No-” Beka cuts him off. “No, no. We’re not doing this here.” He reaches around, leaning into Yuri’s space to turn on the car. Yuri lets him. Yuri always lets him. “I’m going to drive us home. We’ll talk there.”

.o0O0o.

He doesn’t eat his blini. The cheese is dripping from it - but Beka doesn’t touch it. It sits on the counter, smelling of butter and sickness. Instead, he makes them both a strong cup of coffee. Yuri arranges himself on the couch, collecting his limbs and stilling them with the pure force of will.

He puts the cup in front of Yuri. It's shameful the relief he feels flooding him - it's black. Otabek’s cup is sweet and milky, with a dash of cream and two teaspoons of sugar.

“It’s not poison.” Says Beka - but it might as well be a joke. He sits beside him, not touching but still close. His legs crossed beneath him, back braced against the arm of the couch.

They’re never like this over skype. In the camera he is distorted. He is compressed in the frame, flatter. Straight lines. It makes his cheeks fuller. He looks different in the mirror. It's not intentional, he would say if asked. But Beka has done his asking. Otabek understands him better than anyone on the planet - and that makes this so much worse.

“I’m not going to give you something you won’t have.” Says Beka. It comes as a slap - a sound between the silence. “I promise you now Yura. I’m never going to force you.” They tried that before. Yuri didn’t like thinking of that. “But you can never lie to me. Not about this, at least.”

Its hard to open his mouth. He thinks he needs pliers - something to tug the words from his mouth like teeth. “I don’t want to lie to you.” he mutters. “You know I’m not doing this to spite you?”

“I know.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “I know you’re not. But this -” Otabek takes a moment to mull his words. Let them curdle and fizz - picking out the harm and sifting through the help. “You do understand that this is bad for you.”

“Obviously.” He knows what he is doing to himself. He knows how his gut feels - he knows its a distortion. Even when he wasn’t getting sicker and thinner each day the thoughts still blurred him. He wasn’t - and he didn’t want to use the word - fat. He wasn’t. He knew that - but Beka did not know the raw gnawing. Didn’t feel the itch in his bones to reduce himself to a background thing. The terrible terror of being visible. The mortifying horror of being known. The mornings where he watched him - green tea and a handful of vitamins with a belly full of guilt.

“I want you to eat something.”

“And if I say no?”

Otabek’s features crumple. “Yura-” he groans, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “You need to stay healthy.”

Healthy. It leaves him in a hiss. Makes him feel slimy and disgusting. “My blood work came back fine.”

“And maybe your blood is fine - but do you have any idea what it is like to see you like this?” Beka cries, looking at him. “You’ve grown taller - and you aren’t compensating for that growth. You’re burning more fuel - you need to eat to sustain your muscles.”

“Muscles?” He pulls up his arm, holding his bicep in the light. Wraps his hand around it. His fingers touch, meeting on the other side. “You know I’ve never been strong. How do you think I got my quads so early?” His face twists, jaw clenched. “It was never about strength. I was light, and I was fast. I have to be.”

“I know how hard it was when you grew. Relearning all those jumps.” Otabek wouldn’t know. He’s been the same height since he was sixteen. Shot up and stayed there. His jumps fit his form - strong and steady. Sturdy where Yuri is wavering. When Beka falls - which happens rarely now - he has it down to an art. Comes down and picks himself back up again.

When Yuri jumps, it feels like throwing knives up into the air. Expecting to catch them by the handle when they come crashing down to earth.

“It’s the only way I know how to jump.” It’s the truth. Retraining himself now - over everything - he would destroy his career. No more gold medals. His whole life, everything he has worked towards. Gone because of his lack of discipline. “Don’t you think I know it's not good? You know how bad my back got from all that. But I take enough now. I feel better than I did a year ago.”

“It isn’t sustainable.” His voice is gentle. Babying.

“Preaching to the choir, Beka.”

“You can still eat.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Look,” Beka puts his cup down. It’s empty. Yuri has half his left. It melts into his guts - filling him with nervous energy. Eases him, makes him feel bloated. “Really. Let me put this out for you clearly.” Otabek obviously doesn’t know how easy it is for him to spill Yuri out. Ruin him with a few simple words. “You can’t lose any more weight.”

_Why not? You can’t tell me what to do asshole_ \- he won’t say that. Otabek is going to walk away if he starts being a dick. “Okay.”

“And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re - ugh.” He knows. He _knows_. This hurt - but it hurt to live this way. He was enough of a burden on Otabek already. Yuri reminded himself - his boyfriend could still leave. He would get sick of it if it went on long enough. It was a matter of time really. Yuri needed to change.

Still made him want to scream. It was harming him. To expect him to take that risk with himself. Risk gaining more weight - it was a risk to his career and himself. He couldn’t live with himself if he let himself-

“We gave that a go before. Listen to me now - Yura.” And his hands came out. Yuri reached for them, realizing they hadn’t touched since meeting at the airport. It was a lifeline. His hands were so _warm_. “I will _never_ force you to eat. Not again. I promise you - I won’t. I’m sorry I did before. I know that made things worse for you.”

Yuri swallowed. “You weren’t hurting me on purpose.”

“Still.” And his eyes softened. “I want you to trust me. And I broke your trust then. If we try this again - I need your trust. I hope that I can demonstrate that-”

“Stop,” fucking - he needed to stop speaking like a therapist before Yuri’s brain combusted. “Stop - I do trust you. I know you won’t do that again.” Unless he got really bad. If he reached that point - well, all bets were off then. If he couldn’t skate… he could trust Otabek.

“I’ve been… thinking of something that could work.” Said Otabek, lip quirking. “I know you don’t want to recover.”

“Recover is a strong fucking word, Beka.”

“It’s accurate.” He said, voice short. “Every time - all that happens is that you fall apart whenever I’m gone.” Shit - this man was going to make him cry again. “And it gets worse.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.” And there was a reverence there. Strength in his gaze, admiration in the lacing of their fingers. “Every hand you’ve been dealt - I don’t think I could have done the same in your shoes. You have something within you - this -” struggled for words. “Force. You keep fighting, no matter what gets thrown at you. And I love this about you. I love you a lot.”

“I love you too.”

“So you are not fragile.”

“You treat me like I’m fragile.”

“I know you’re not fragile, Yura.” His hand let go, reaching to brush a carved cheek. “Gentleness is not a bad thing. I don’t think you’ll break - never. But that doesn’t mean I can’t treat you kindly, does it?” His thumb feels so good on his skin. It leaves him tingling. “You never need to prove yourself to anyone, much less me. Or do you have a problem with me being gentle?”

Yuri chokes. He turned away, head down. Blond strands dripping from his loose bun. “Get to the point.”

“What if you - instead of constantly not eating - just looked to maintain the weight you have right now.”

Yuri’s mouth goes dry. “What.”

“If you kept yourself where you were at now.” Otabek shrugged. Not a hint of shame in his eyes. “Don’t misunderstand - I want you to be healthy. I want you to gain weight. If it were up to me,” He didn’t finish his sentence. “But I can’t force you to. You’ll refuse to eat anyway.”

“You want me to be a functional anorexic?” They don’t use that word. He has never said the word himself. It gets him a brief glare.

“That’s making the assumption you’re functional.” Otabek watches him carefully. “Which - considering things the way they are - you don’t appear to be.”

That gets him. Fresh tears tumble down his cheeks. A sob wriggles up into his throat, and he barely stuffs it down. Otabek wipes them with his thumb, and hands him his coffee. It's a mercy, and he drinks it down quickly. “Asshole,” he mumbles, not really meaning it.

“I’m living here now for the rest of the season.” He is still crying. Can’t look at Beka. “If you would still want me here, then I still want to be here.” Yura nods, eyes closed. “We can work it out. A set point that you can stay at without getting sick.”

“I’m already sick.”

“And are you going to get better the way you’re going now? You know the way this goes.”

“No shit.”

“So,” And Beka props himself up. Lifts his chin, looks him in the eye. “I can help you with a diet plan. No more loss - but no more gain. If you go below, I’ll give you more to eat. Above - and I promise you I’ll give you less. You won’t even have to look at the numbers if you don’t want to.”

“But that’s such a _burden_ on you!” He gasps, trembling.

“It would be a bigger burden to lose you.”

He loses it. Starts sobbing straight in his arms - all writhing and roiling. Otabek pulls him instantly, pressing their bodies together. They mold into each other - time sinking beneath the waves of his tears. And when he emerges - Beka is still there. Stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his cheeks.

They make broken love, hands working where words cannot. He comes with a cry, Beka forever whispering words of praise into his skin. His love doesn’t get his claws tonight, not wishing to mark him anymore than he has. But there are tears on his skin now - and not his own. He kisses the life into him - and,

_I love you,_

_I love you,_

_I love you._

And he thinks - one day when he is older and wiser and beyond the bounds of this disease - that he will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading lovelies! If you want more, or have any requests - leave a kudos, pop down to the comments and let me know! More feedback makes it more likely I'll write more!
> 
> See ya'll next time!


End file.
